The Keeper of Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page A

fitting for His servants,’ I said as mildly as I could.
    ‘Not even a pig would want—’ he persisted.
    ‘How fortunate I am not a pig. Enough of this, Simon.’ I turned to Farmer Gates. ‘It seems I cannot accept your kind invitation. Pray forgive me.’
    He nodded, apparently bemused. I fancied, however, that even if he had not taken offence, my churchwardens had. Mr Bulmer’s complexion was dark with anger, and Mr Miller’s eyes narrowed. But from the expression on Dr Hansard’s face, this was no time for doctrinal or social argument, so, with a final shake of Mr Gates’s hand, I turned towards the parsonage.
    Shedding my surplice with more haste than dignity, and providing myself, on impulse, with the requisites for both communion and infant baptism, I bade Jem, busy with a hammer and some long nails, bring the gig round immediately. Even Jem looked solemn when I mentioned our destination, but he gave a grim nod, as if approving despite himself.
    ‘What is Marsh Bottom, that no one wants me to see it?’ I enquired lightly, as I took my place beside Dr Hansard. ‘Or is it my solecism in declining to partake of the funeral baked meats that gives offence?’
    ‘I know not why Bulmer and Miller are so hostile,’ he said thoughtfully, whipping his horses into a brisk trot. ‘They dealt extremely well with your predecessor, but that in itself is no commendation, not in my eyes at least. Simon Clark, however, is a decent man, who – not to wrap it up in clean linen – fearsfor your health as much as for your sensibilities. I doubt you’ll have seen much to prepare you for the Bottom, not unless you have seen military service abroad.’
    Although I felt his eyes upon me, I declined to respond. Although one day I had no doubt I would open my budget and be fully frank with him, this was neither the time nor the place, and, were I honest with myself, it was still an episode painful to refer to. ‘My health?’ I prompted him at last.
    ‘A foul, miasmic place,’ he said. ‘And Simon was right; no decent farmer would want to house his pig in such a sty. But labourers are not pigs, Tobias, and neither are their families,’ he added grimly. ‘I often think they are not valued so highly.’ He slowed his horses to a funereal walk, the lane being so deeply rutted that I would imagine it impassable after rain.
    ‘The landlord—’
    ‘—Is so busy improving his lands after at last enclosing them that he has no time to care for his workers’ accommodation. He would probably assert that he has no money, either, for putting land into good heart is not to be undertaken lightly. But soon you may judge for yourself. I normally come to such places on horseback,’ he added grimly, struggling to keep the gig upright.
    At last, the gig came to a halt – for the life of me I could not see why – and, reaching behind him for his bag, Hansard jumped down. Nothing loath I followed suit. ‘We have to walk from here?’ I ventured.
    ‘We are here, man,’ he declared, his voice rough with an emotion I eventually deduced must be anger.
    ‘But I see nought but a haystack,’ I protested. ‘And a damned poor one to boot!’
    ‘You see Marsh Bottom,’ he said dryly.
    He strode along what might have been a path, his boots leaving phosphorescent puddles in the ooze. I followed in an altogether more gingerly fashion, still wondering whither he led. At last I perceived two or three holes in the side of the stack, which might be doorways, with further holes emitting a quantity of thin smoke.
    ‘Can it really be that someone lives here?’
    ‘Three families,’ he threw over his shoulder. ‘One in each hovel. Now do you see why people doubted the wisdom of your venturing down here? Continue at your own risk, Parson Campion.’
    I fear that even at that moment I might have turned back, had I not heard a hideous sound, midway between a groan and a scream, issuing from the middle hole.
    We plunged within. It took me all the